Massie Read online

  Massie side-peeked at Anastasia, afraid of what she might see. But the Be Pretty CEO was still grinning with joy. Massie breathed a Be Minty–scented sigh of relief. William must have been right. The whole “inner beauty” thing was just a hook to sell more product. All she cared about was the bottom line.

  Thank Gawd!

  Lindsey’s grinning image faded to a shot of Marin, posing by her pool in a white sundress. Massie had to admit the ol’ freckle-face looked good for her. She flashed a thumbs-up at Marin and her mother, sitting just a few tables away. They smiled back.

  “Massie told me freckles and heavy prints can induce nausea. So I donated my entire wardrobe to Darfur and replaced it with solids. Then I got a laser facial. Oh, and I also use Be Flawless foundation.” The camera zoomed in on Marin’s face, and she winked. “Thanks, Massie. Without you, I’d never have known the truth about my nauseating looks.”

  Marin’s mom slammed down her gold-rimmed glass. She was waving her hands and mouthing something to Massie, but Massie couldn’t quite make it out. Again, Massie side-peeked at her mentor, but Anastasia was still grinning.

  “Normally when someone calls your embarrassing blackhead and whitehead condition a ‘nose full of salt and pepper’ it’s upsetting,” said Video Cathie while swinging in her porch swing. Her face had been scrubbed raw. “But my pores were super clogged. Now my acne is gone … along with the top layer of my skin. But who cares? It was worth it, don’tcha think?” She caressed her red nose.

  Anastasia’s eyes were glued to the video while her thumbs sent a quick text. Seconds later, one of her many purple lab coat–wearing assistants appeared with her metallic gold makeup holster. She snapped the chic fanny pack around the waist of her flowing gown, then dismissed the assistant with a stiff half-nod. Massie side-stared at the holster in awe.

  Six pockets hung off the belt, each one stuffed with products from Be’s high-end, special-edition Gold line. Each brush, shadow, pencil, balm, and gloss was wrapped in a gilt-plated package.

  Except for one. It was the shape of a Crayola marker and the color of an eggplant. And it stood alone. In all its purple glory.

  Massie instantly sat on her hands to keep them from shaking. On the video Noelle was saying something about an earthquake in Sephora, but it was impossible to concentrate. Greatness was an arm’s length away. And she found herself trembling in its presence. Was this how Lauren Conrad felt when she met Marc Jacobs on The Hills?

  “Come with me,” Anastasia whisper-grinned. She placed Muse in her Fendi wooly-fringe-and-feather “To You” bag and stood.

  Massie choked back a “Yay!” as she hurry-followed her mentor out the side exit, reveling in the jealous looks and excited whispers of everyone they passed. This was it! The moment she had slaved for all week. Anastasia was going to take that purple marker out of her holster and paint Massie into her exclusive club. And then they would reenter the luncheon as in-the-know equals and make mini-pony-shopping plans as soon as the guests cleared out.

  Once they were alone in the VIP holding room, Anastasia shut the door behind them. She opened her Fendi on the floor and smiled peacefully as Muse trotted out and began galloping around the marble coffee table.

  Massie’s stomach fluttered in anticipation. She tried her hardest to look unsuspecting, but it was too late. The I-know-I’m-about-to-get-a-purple-streak grin had already settled on her face.

  And it held strong … until Anastasia explained why they were really there.

  THE SOUTHAMPTON COUNTRY CLUB

  VIP SITTING ROOM

  Saturday, June 27

  1:03 P.M.

  Without a single word, Anastasia lowered herself onto the edge of the peony pink settee. The Be Elite purple pen jiggled around in its holster as she tried to get comfortable. But Anastasia didn’t reach for it. Instead, she pulled out a handful of products and popped open her Be Reflective compact. With the finesse of an artist, she dabbed Be Peachy blush on the apples of her cheeks, traced her dark eyes with Be Money green glitter pencil, and double glossed her lips with a bottom coat of Be Pink and a top coat of Be Flashy. It was like watching Picasso paint, only fun.

  “My Gawd, you’re ugly!” Anastasia snapped her mirrored compact shut and stood.

  “Ehmagawd, you are so nawt—” Massie started, reaching for the chocolate-dipped fruit.

  “Not me!” She whacked the strawberry out of Massie’s hand. “You!”

  Massie giggled. This had to be some sort of purple-streak initiation joke. After all, Anastasia had called her a POTO just a couple days ago. But the mogul turned away in disgust. She faced the gold Lurex curtains and lowered her head.

  “Wait.” Panic-sweat prickled its way through Massie’s tiny pores and dampened her forehead. “You’re not kidding?”

  Anastasia shook her head no.

  “You seriously think I’m ugly?” The room started spinning. It was hard to know where Anastasia’s Oscar-statue dress began and the curtains ended. Massie felt like a cardboard cone swirling around a giant vat of gold cotton candy.

  “Ugly?”

  “Yes.” Anastasia turned to face Massie, her almond-shaped eyes glistening with tears. “On the inside.”

  The spinning room settled.

  “Phew.” Massie fanned her forehead. “So I’m still pretty on the outside, right?”

  “What difference does that make?” Anastasia scooped up Muse and held him close. “You told those girls how unattractive they were.”

  “Key word, were,” Massie reminded her patiently. “Now they’re so much less unattractive. Thanks to us.”

  “No!” Anastasia shook her head and set down the mini horse. “You missed the entire point of Be Pretty Cosmetics! You completely misrepresented my brand! And now those poor girls out there are more damaged than ever.”

  Massie slumped back down on the pink chaise and hid her burning cheeks in Muse’s mane. All she wanted to do was succeed. And now she was being looked at as a total failure. Even though her face was covered, Massie could feel Anastasia’s disappointed glare as clearly as she had felt Brownie’s. And it hurt more than laser hair removal.

  “I’m so sorry.” Massie placed a reassuring hand on Anastasia’s perfectly moisturized shoulder. “I honestly had no idea you believed all that beauty-on-the-inside stuff.”

  Anastasia lifted her eyes and knit her perfectly arched brows, her sadness morphing suddenly into anger. “Well, what did you think? That I spent the last seven years of my life developing a cosmetics line and attending self-esteem seminars just so I could end up on People’s Most Beautiful list?”

  “Well, yeah.” Massie shrugged.

  “Well, wrong!” Anastasia stood again. “Being overly attractive is a gift. And I intend to use my gift to inspire others. Not prey on their insecurities for money. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

  Anastasia irritably adjusted her makeup holster. The purple streaking pen slid just out of Massie’s view.

  “I’m really sorry,” Massie mumbled to the hem of her purple dress. The last thing she wanted to do was let Anastasia down. Well, actually that was the second to last thing. The last thing she wanted to do was be a low seller. “I just wanted to make you proud.” She sniffled. “Because you’re my”—she sniffled again—“role model.”

  Anastasia offered Massie a withering look and marched over to the door.

  Massie blotted the corner of her eye with a silver cocktail napkin and watched her go. What would she tell her parents? Her friends? Her customers? Her hair? And then she realized something. Something huge. And that something had to be taken care of if she ever wanted to look in the mirror again and feel proud.

  “No, wait!” She hurried to Anastasia’s side and grabbed her wrist just as she was about to turn the handle. “What can I do to make it up to you?”

  Anastasia’s expression softened. “For starters, you can apologize to everyone in that room.”

  “Done.” Massie smiled gratefully and ran a finger under he
r tear-soaked eyes.

  “And promise you will work on your inner beauty.”

  “Done.” Massie smiled again. “I guess I was so desperate to be your top seller I lost track of who you really are. Aaaand all of the important things you stand for.”

  Anastasia closed her eyes and exhaled. “Thank you for saying that.”

  Massie held out her arms and batted her lashes like a timid fawn. “Forgive me?” She sniffled, then hugged her mentor.

  “I’ll try.” Anastasia smirked, returning the gesture.

  After a heartfelt embrace, Anastasia pulled away and locked eyes with Massie. “You know, being on top feels better if you can look down and know you didn’t step on anyone during your climb.”

  Massie dabbed the corners of her eyes one last time … pretending to agree.

  They reentered the terrace just as the tribute video was wrapping up. The final shot was a scrolling list of Massie’s unprecedented sales record set to the tune of Christina Aguilera’s “Beautiful.” When the song ended, the screen went dark and the room erupted in a frenzy of applause.

  Anastasia’s shellacked mouth dropped open.

  Almost everyone gave Massie a standing ovation, except a few of the mothers who shook their heads and glared at Kendra as if she were somehow responsible. But Kendra ignored them, choosing to clap and cheer with the rest of the guests.

  “Excuse me?” Anastasia said crisply. “Can I have your attention please?”

  One of her purple lab coat–wearing assistants quickly handed her the lipstick microphone. Anastasia smiled her thank-you, then continued. “Please hold your applause. Massie has something she would like to say.”

  Everyone sat and smiled expectantly.

  Suddenly Massie’s stomach lurched. Did Anastasia seriously expect her to apologize to these people? For what? Making them attractive?

  “Massie rules!” Lindsey shouted from her table.

  Everyone applauded again.

  Like a seasoned professional, Massie stood at the front of the room, happy to let their adoration run its course.

  “Unbelievable,” Anastasia muttered under her breath. She lifted her palm, requesting silence. “Go ahead.” She nudged Massie.

  But Massie was speechless. Her inner alpha was hiding, refusing to participate in a public apology.

  Instead, she glanced out at the smiling faces staring back at her—many of them faces she’d single-handedly transformed from gruesome to gorgeous without the help of even one dermatologist or plastic surgeon. And how could that Be wrong?

  “Speak,” Anastasia hissed.

  “Um,” Massie tried. “I wanted to let you all know that I’m really sorr—” She stopped herself just in time. “I’m really honored to have served you. But I’m retiring.”

  “What?” Anastasia gasped. “That’s not what you’re—”

  “I know you’re shocked,” she blurted. “But my work here is done.”

  “Truth is beauty!” shouted Cathie.

  Everyone whoo-hooed.

  Massie giggled modestly and then continued. “You all look ah-mazing, on the outside. And now, the inside part is up to you. Thanks for helping me become number one. Enjoy your beauty!” She handed Anastasia the mic, waved goodbye to her protégées, and hurried for the exit like a pop star hounded by the paparazzi.

  Anastasia called after her, but Massie refused to stop. Why bother? Her commission check had cleared two days ago. She’d paid her parents back. And she was the Be Pretty Cosmetics number one seller of all time. She’d gotten everything she wanted.

  Everything.

  MAIN STREET

  SOUTHAMPTON

  Monday, June 29

  10:58 A.M.

  Massie strolled down Main Street with her mother and openly applied two generous coats of Vanilla Espresso Bean–flavored Glossip Girl to her lips. Finally! No more hiding. The days of pretending Be Shiny lip gloss was more moisturizing were over.

  “I’m ready.” Massie tightened the knot on her silk Pucci hair wrap and checked her Marc by Marc Jacobs orange wide-strap watch for the millionth time that morning. “Two minutes before they open.”

  “Okay.” Kendra pulled a vellum envelope out of her navy Chanel clutch. “Here you go.”

  Massie tore it open, desperate for what was inside. “Yes!” she shouted, and then gave the silver Visa a big glossy kiss. “Mwah! Welcome home.”

  Kendra pushed back the sleeves on her white Catherine Malandrino shirtdress with a pleased smile. “You deserve it. Your father and I are very proud of you.”

  The compliments were nice, but all Massie really wanted to hear was, “Come on in,” from the manager at Intermix. And she would, in exactly fifty-eight seconds, when the trendy store opened.

  “I never imagined you’d be able to pay us back for Galwaugh in a week.” Kendra finger-swatted her blowout away from her face. “We are so impressed with—”

  The glass door clicked open, allowing a gust of chilly air to rush out of the all-white store and blow by Massie’s face like a floral-scented burp.

  “Thanks, Mom, I’ll meet you at Savory’s for lunch in forty-five minutes,” Massie said to a jewel toned dress–wearing mannequin in the window.

  “Sounds great—have fun.” Kendra click-clacked off to buy a new tennis outfit.

  Massie checked her reflection in the window, knowing she was about to make a very big impression on some very small people. She’d paired a turquoise Thread Social mini dress with flat gold Prada thong sandals and white drop earrings.

  “Ten,” she said to herself with a giddy giggle, and then entered.

  With an eye on the blond pixie working the register, Massie marched past the tidy silver racks of Chloé, Mint, Ella Moss, and Theory. She had all summer for those. All she needed now were her sunglasses. The kind Nicole Richie wore by the pool in Vegas over Memorial Day weekend. The kind everyone tried to get after they saw her picture in US Weekly. The kind that Massie tried to get before Galwaugh.

  The kind that had a list.

  “Can I help you?” asked the salesgirl without looking up from her article on Brad and Angelina’s latest adoptee.

  “A pair of gold-framed oversize gold D&G sunglasses, please. Style code c-71—”

  “Don’t bother.” The girl slid a clipboard across the counter. A stack of coffee-stained pages were sloppily attached.

  “Enteryournameemailaddresscellphonenumber.We’ll-callyouwhenwegetmore.” She clicked a pink Intermix pen and slammed it down on the stack.

  “I’m already on the list,” Massie informed her.

  “Then we’ll call you if they come in.” The girl flipped a page in US Weekly and yawned.

  “You don’t understand.” Massie pushed the clipboard aside. “You can take me off the list and just give me the glasses. And don’t bother with a bag. I’ll be wearing them home.”

  The salesgirl finally looked up. “You’re looking at a five-year wait. I couldn’t get you those glasses even if my name was Ivanka.” She gave Massie a searing once-over.

  Just then, a skinny blond salesguy burst through the front door of the store like he was making his Broadway debut and quickly put on a headset. “Sorry I’m laaaaaate. Mandy Moore was on Martha talking about how comfortable she is being a size eight and you know what a sucker I am for a good comedy.”

  “You wanna laugh even harder?” the girl asked.

  The salesguy, whose name tag read STEVEN, nodded as he lifted his FASHION IS EASY … JUST LIKE YOU T-shirt until it revealed a tuft of blond stomach hair just above his jeans. Ew.

  “This girl thinks she’s walking out of here with a pair of gold D&Gs.”

  He burst out laughing while assessing his tiny butt in the slimming wall mirror.

  It was go time. Massie loosened the knot on her hair wrap, letting her glossy layers tumble to her shoulders. She stepped under a track light and tilted her head to the left, revealing an unmistakable purple streak.

  The girl’s angular jaw dropped.


  Steven gasped.

  “Code purple,” he whisper-shouted into his headset. “Repeat, code purple.” He kept his eyes fixed on Massie’s streak. “It means, Mark, that we’ve got a purple streak in the store, and she wants a pair of the gold-framed D&Gs. Now move!” He nodded apologetically at Massie. “It’ll just take a second. In fact, I’m sure Moira would be happy to run back there and speed things up a little.”

  “Happy to.” Moira scurried to the back of the store, her red skinny jeans revealing the pink lace on her Cosabellas.

  “Thaaanks, Moira,” Massie giggle-called after her.

  “Party Like a Rock Star” throbbed over the speakers as Steven sashayed across the store and flipped the lock on the front door. “So you can shop in peace,” he explained to Massie. “Can I get you anything, Miss … ?”

  “Block. Massie Block.”

  “Cappuccino?”

  Massie crossed the store. “That’s all for now, thank you.”

  She stood smiling at her own ingenuity. All it had taken was a sympathetic eyelash bat, one hug from Anastasia, and some quick fingers. And like in that old game Operation, Massie had lifted that purple pen out of its holster with extreme precision and dropped it in her bag.

  “Here we are. Our very last pair.” Moira returned from the back clutching a metallic bronze D&G sunglasses case. She held it out to Massie. “Is this what you wanted, miss?”

  “Exactly.” Massie smiled, clicking open the smooth metallic box.

  She peered down at the magnificent gold-framed glasses nestled in the velvet-lined case and beamed. She lifted them out and slid them on. They felt heavy. Solid. And very, very exclusive. Massie slapped down her Visa and turned to admire herself in the round countertop accessories mirror. Her hair was swept over one shoulder and gleamed as brightly as her new frames.

  Purple and gold were a winning combination—one that suited her perfectly.

  CURRENT STATE OF THE UNION

  INOUT

  Glossip Girl Be Pretty

  Summer breezes Anastasia Brees